


Lost and Found

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [99]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kinda, Nightmares, Sparring, discussions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: Sam passes water to Wanda when she takes a break from sparring. He asks to spar with the Dora Milaje on occasion and they pummel him into the ground in a way that makes him realise just how much he depends on his wings. With Wanda they’re more gentle - it’s weird, he thinks, that they’re so gentle to Wanda, who gave rise to the Accords, who killed their countrymen because she couldn’t contain Crossbones’ explosion - but with him, with the rest of the guys, they cut no slack whatsoever.“It is their duty to protect,” Wanda tells him when he asks her. “They protect T’Challa so he protects the people. With you, they know you have the training to be a threat, with your wings. With me…” she twists her hands curls and uncurls her fingers in graceful motions. “With me I am nothing. I will not go into minds anymore, I cannot make my scarlet obey me. I have no way to protect myself, so they teach me that.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wandasmaximoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/gifts).



> To Rin, because I promised you this months back and only got to writing it now.

 

Blood beads on Wanda’s lip, trickles down from her nose and she can  _ taste _ it.

She lifts her hands again, shifts her stance, nods to the Dora Milaje, Nareema, across from her. “Again,” she says, and they blur into motion.

 

* * *

 

Sam remembers how she’d been in the Raft, so still and silent, so locked into herself he was pretty certain she was dissociating. She’s come far from that, now, with Clint bumping shoulders with her gently, and sparring with some of the Dora Milaje. 

She doesn’t speak much, though, and only Clint and Steve have seen her use her powers since they all arrived. 

 

* * *

 

She can feel her scarlet locked up inside, coiled and lashing like eels. She can’t always let it out. She  _ won’t _ go into minds, not now, not after feeling Pietro die, and the rest of it… 

If she’s drifting it coils out of her readily, drifts into her hands like rope. She’s not drifting so much now, though, and even an instinctive desire for protection doesn’t call it forth.

 

* * *

 

Nightmares do, though.

She wakes with her scarlet illuminating the room, bright as blood, bold as brass. Sometimes she’ll try to make it dance, make it pick things up, smooth out her covers, but it never listens. It only listens when she calls it back to her, tucks it away inside, coiling up like rope. 

It’s odd, she thinks. She used to only be able to use her scarlet with focus, if she knew, with absolute certainty, what she wanted. Now, now she can only use it when drifting, when imagining on a whim, just as it had been those first days back in the castle.

 

* * *

 

Sam passes water to Wanda when she takes a break from sparring. He asks to spar with the Dora Milaje on occasion and they pummel him into the ground in a way that makes him realise just how much he depends on his wings. With Wanda they’re more gentle - it’s weird, he thinks, that they’re so gentle to Wanda, who gave rise to the Accords, who killed their countrymen because she couldn’t contain Crossbones’ explosion - but with him, with the rest of the guys, they cut no slack whatsoever.

“It is their duty to protect,” Wanda tells him when he asks her. “They protect T’Challa so he protects the people. With you, they know you have the training to be a threat, with your wings. With me…” she twists her hands curls and uncurls her fingers in graceful motions. “With me I am nothing. I will not go into minds anymore, I cannot make my scarlet obey me. I have no way to protect myself, so they teach me that.”

“I could teach you,” he offers. “Hell, any of us would, Steve, Clint, probably even Scott.” He doesn’t mention Bucky. That had been the last successful use of her powers - tearing out HYDRA’s programming from his brain. 

Wanda shrugs, drinks from the glass he’d given her. “Yes. But the Dora Milaje will teach me more.” She looks at him, and for a moment red sparks in the depths of her eyes. “They do not fear me,” she says, “As all of you do.”

 

* * *

 

Sparring with Nareema is … Wanda hesitates to call it  _ fun. _ It’s not fun, it’s exercise and effort and learning and sometimes she throws a punch and remembers Pietro’s hand on hers, tucking her thumb outside her fist when he first showed her how to hurt someone. (Sometimes she throws a punch and it connects and she remembers the movement to follow; stamping on the fallen’s ribs so they won’t get up, so they won’t hurt Pietro again, so they won’t chase either of them.)

It helps though. The rush of adrenaline, the knowledge that she’s training to get stronger, that she’ll have another layer of protection even if she gets her scarlet back.

It helps.

 

* * *

 

She gets stronger sparring the Dora Milaje, Sam can see that. Clint isn’t at her side so constantly - instead he’s off doing other things, or Wanda elbows him and tells him she can take care of herself. (Sam’s seen how much she’s improved. She might not be able to face down Steve or Bucky but she could absolutely take down Clint with the element of surprise on her side.)

“You’re doin’ ok?” he checks one day when she’s wandering back. Her hair is clumped with sweat, her forehead shining. Her cheeks have colour in them and she’s smiling widely even as she seems to be somewhat stiff.

“So concerned,” she says, reaching out to pat his arm. “I will be fine, Sam, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Sam has to admit, Wanda is very lovely when she smiles.

 

* * *

 

Sam lands onto the training mat with a thud and Nareema steps back, stands at parade rest. 

“Fuck,” Sam says, hauling himself up. “Okay. Again?”

Nareema raises an eyebrow, returns to her ready stance and beckons him. 

“Stay light on your feet,” Wanda says. “For a man with wings you rely too much on a firm stance.”

Sam lifts to a more ready stance and manages to last slightly longer against Nareema that time.

 

* * *

 

“That a thing they taught you, then?” Sam asks as they walk back to the rooms T’Challa gave them. “Stay light on your feet?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Pietro,” she whispers. “Light on your feet, ready to move. Only be solidly in place when you have everything under control. And after, when we had powers - if I was light on my feet it was easier for him to pick me up.”

“Oh,” Sam says.

For a while they walk in silence. They are almost back to their rooms when Wanda speaks again

“And you?” she asks. “Who taught you to be so grounded?”

Sam tilts his head forward, looks at his feet. “Riley,” he says. “My wingman.” He laughs like there’s a lump in his throat. “Said I used to have my head in the clouds, that I needed to be more grounded, pay more attention.”

Wanda tilts her head, frowns slightly. “You pay attention,” she says, and they’ve paused, about to go their own way back to their rooms. “But there is a difference between being grounded and staying in one place.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah, that’s true.”

 

* * *

 

Nightmares come, nightmares go. There’s the old one, the oldest one, the one that will never leave. There’s the newer one, the one yet more terrible, and she knows that nightmare will never leave either - the memory of her brother’s death is branded onto her brain, scarlet tatters of thought always reaching for him. She knows that will never go away. 

There’s newer nightmares too, fears for the team - old team and new team - fears from the Raft, her arms locked up stiff by her sides, the feeling of electricity shocking through her.

(Nightmares of crushing rubble and constraining straightjacket and the confinements of the Accords and house arrest.)

(Nightmares of Vision.)

 

* * *

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sam asks her when she wanders into the common area. She glances at him, jerks her head down in a nod and moves to the cupboard, pulling down mug and tea caddy. It’s almost absentminded how she flicks her fingers and for the briefest moment scarlet flares out, begins to lift the kettle.

It’s as she sees the kettle rise that it vanishes and Wanda heaves a sigh, steps over, mug in hand, to pick it up, fill it with water.

“Looks like it’s coming back,” he says, gesturing with his coffeecup. Wanda shrugs. “Want me to shut up now?” Wanda shrugs again.

A few minutes later, once the kettle has clicked off and the tea's cooled enough for Wanda to drink Wanda speaks.

“Sorry,” she says. “But after nightmares-”

“Hey,” Sam says, interrupting gently. “Hey, it’s ok, you don’t need to explain. Nightmares are nasty shit.”

Wanda wraps her hands around the mug, looks down into the depths. The smell of it - mint, lemon verbena, some herb that he can’t pronounce yet because it involves a tongue click halfway through - fills the space softly. “Its,” she says. Sam stays quiet. He can hear the soft sound of her nails tapping lightly against the ceramic. “The Raft,” she says. “The straightjacket. When we were ten, the rubble. House arrest. The Accords.” She fastens her hands around the mug as though trying to leach all warmth from it. “Pietro,” she whispers. “And no Pietro. And the old nightmare, the oldest nightmare, of the collapse, of the rubble, of Pietro  _ dead. _ And now-”

Sam can see the tears beading in her eyes, reaches out a hand gently over the marble countertop. 

“Now, he’s gone,” Wanda whispers. “And I dream him dead and then I wake and he is not there to hug me and tell me, ‘no, no, it is all right, we are alive, we are stronger than Stark, than his bombs’. I dream him dead and he  _ is _ dead.” In her hands the mug is shaking. “And all of this-” she gestures around with a flick of her fingers “-trapped. We are trapped within Wakanda because it is the only place we may be free, and we are trapped without because of the Accords.  _ Vision _ trapped me, for Stark. Then Stark trapped me in the Raft. And the Raft trapped me in a straightjacket, and the straightjacket trapped me in my nightmares.”

“And now,” Sam says softly, “Wakanda traps you in safety but only if you stay.”

Wanda nods. 

“Would,” Sam says, slowly, tentatively. “To have someone nearby. A door to knock on, or, God, I don’t know. Like a baby monitor or something so if you wake up screaming one of us will know. Would that help?”

Wanda’s shoulders hunch. 

“Or not,” Sam says.

“I don’t like being spied on,” Wanda says. “I don’t like. That feeling. Of being watched.”

“Your brother-” Sam says.

“ _ Never _ spied on me. We were there for each other. He knew I had nightmares because he promised himself he would protect me, so he  _ knew _ when I had nightmares like he knew himself.”

“You need company,” Sam says. “Someone to be there for you.”

“No,” Wanda says. “I need Pietro. But he isn’t here.”

“Well,” Sam says, lips curling in a smile. “I don’t think anyone knows you as well as he did. But you know we’re all here for you. If you need company you could always ask one of us.” Wanda eyes him warily. “We’re your team,” Sam says gently. “Some of the fight was for Steve, or for Bucky and some of it was because Tony had you under house arrest - which was totally illegal, by the way.” He shrugs. “You need company then one of us will get a camp bed and stay nearby.”

Wanda’s nails tap lightly on the mug in her hands. “You fear me,” she says. “All of you. What I could do when I controlled my scarlet, what I might do now I can’t.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “But you’re still part of the team.”

 

* * *

 

Sam’s on the futon they’ve dragged into Wanda’s room when she wakes from a nightmare the next time. It’s silent, he doesn’t know what woke him, but there’s the sense of something prickling across his skin, a silence where there should be breathing.

“Wanda?” he asks, muzzily rolling over. She’s sat upright on her bed, eyes glowing, scarlet spreading out from her in a cloud. As he watches she drags in a breath, and with it her scarlet. “Hey,” he says, pushing himself upright, stumbling over the floor. “Hey, it’s ok. You’re safe.” Wanda’s eyes fix on him, still glowing.

Then she blinks and they’re are back to normal.

“Go back to sleep,” she tells him. “I’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

She’s there for his nightmare too. He jolts awake, still flat on his back, and as he’s slowing his breathing he hears the soft sounds of covers shifting, bare feet padding over the floor.

“Sam?”

“I’m ok,” he says. “I’m ok.”

Her hands are cold and  gentle on his. “It is the past,” she says. “We cannot change it.”

He laughs at that, pushes himself up. “Yeah,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Wanna go get some coffee?”

Wanda smiles at him, rises from her crouch. “Tea for me,” she says. “But yes, that will be nice.”

 

* * *

 

“You should teach him,” Nareema says the next time Wanda goes to spar. “Wilson. We will just keep on beating him into the ground; he is smart enough he should be able to learn from what we do, from his mistakes. With you, maybe, he will have a little more time.”

“I’m the easy target,” Wanda says, but she’s smiling.

Nareema’s smile is bright against dark skin. “Yes. But it will help your form too.”

“Sam!” Wanda calls, waving a hand. “Spar with me today.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments!


End file.
